


Looking

by melissmallfic



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2956118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissmallfic/pseuds/melissmallfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian goes on a bad date, but meets someone interesting on his ride home.</p><p>Inspired by the HBO show Looking. See below for more explanation.</p><p>There's some language in it, but this rating will probably get higher as it goes on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Looking for Now

Ian knew the date was doomed from the start. The place was too crowded, but they’d decided to wait for one of the high bar tables to open up anyway. After trying and failing to hear one another over the speakers by the entryway, they’d given up and fallen into awkward silence. The guy had even handed Ian his card at some point, which Ian thought was odd. But the other man had seemed put out when Ian didn’t have one to hand back. When the hostess came by to take them over to the table, it didn’t escape Ian that the guy looked like he was going for a root canal instead of a first date.

"So it’s a lot of studying mostly, but it’s paying off. I’m near the top of my class, if not the very top," Thad said. God, Ian wondered why he even messaged a guy whose name was Thad. There couldn’t possibly be anyone interesting with a name like that. He was handsome sure, but in that bland, forgettable way.

"Good for you," Ian said, and Thad nodded like, of course, good for him. "But it must be exhausting."

Thad nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Oh yeah, it totally is. You have no idea. I’m up for hours every night, barely get any sleep.”

Ian found himself nodding, too. “Well, I’m with you there. I have crazy hours at the bar.”

Thad’s eyes narrowed and he frowned a bit. “Right, you’re a bartender?”

"Part-time," Ian said. And even though it’s clear Thad isn’t impressed, he can’t help but keep talking. "It’s kind of similar. We’re both helping people with their problems." Ian smiled. He knew it was a good smile, it got him a lot of tips and a lot of dates after all. But Thad grimaced in response.

The waiter came back and asked if they were ready for another round. While Thad asked him if he was going to, Ian drained the rest of his beer. “Sure,” he said, while Thad frowned again and shook his head no. Ian tried to hide a burp behind his hands, but Thad could barely hide his disgust. Ian would have loved to have just rolled his eyes and told the guy to fuck off, but for some reason he wanted to win him over. He hated how he was coming off, even though Thad was clearly a dud. But he was a dud who thought he’s hot shit and Ian couldn’t stand it.

"So, how long did you say your last relationship was?" Thad asked. Ian was thrown off for a moment and then remembered their brief messages online before they decided to meet in person.

"Couple months," he answered. "How about you?"

"Two years," Thad said, like he deserved a prize or something. God, every word out of his mouth was more sanctimonious than the last. "Have you ever been in a relationship for that long?"

"No, I guess not, but—" Thad cut him off with a raised hand. He made eye contact with someone over Ian’s shoulder, probably the waiter, and made a check-writing motion in the air. That time Ian couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Look, Ian, you seem like a nice guy. But I don’t think this is going anywhere." 

"We’ve been here ten minutes." Ian sputtered. Why he argued with the guy, he didn’t know. 

"It doesn’t matter. When something’s not right, it’s not right." The waiter dropped the check between them on the table and Thad scooped it up immediately. Ian thought for a moment that he was about to make up for being a world class douche by paying for the drinks. "I had one happy hour beer and you had two Goose Islands, so I’m gonna leave ten dollars and you owe about twenty-four. Okay?" He handed Ian the check, and pulled a bill out of his pocket, placing it on the table. "Have a nice night, Ian."

Ian felt his blood boiling even as he pulled out his wallet and counted his cash. He can’t believe he didn’t even fight with Thad to split the check at least. But what made him sweat is the way Thad looked at him. Like he was doing mental calculations of Ian’s value and the total didn’t come out right. He obviously thought Ian was attractive, wouldn’t have messaged him if he didn’t. But he thought little of Ian’s relationship history, his education, his job. It was all over his face. Ian only wished he’d had the balls to punch that smug look right off of it.

When Ian got on the L train it was crowded, but only one stop in a few people got off and Ian was able to slide into a seat. He was grateful to lean his forehead up against the window and distract himself with the view of the world outside. But he couldn’t help but rewind back to his brief, but embarrassing conversation with Thad. He wished he could go back in time and tell that asshole where he could put his shitty attitude. He thought of a dozen responses he could have said to the invasive, judgmental relationship question or the crack about his job.

The train pulled away from another stop with a jolt and Ian looked up, not even sure how long he’d let his mind drift. He turned around to try to catch a look at the station name, but wasn’t fast enough. 

"You lost?" Ian turned around to see who had spoken the words. He was surprised to see how emptier the train car was, and to see an intimidating-looking guy around his age with his eyebrows raised in question. 

"Uh, no. Just trying to see what stop we’re at."

Just one dark eyebrow shot up that time and the guy smirked. Ian’s mind immediately imagined those dark pink lips wrapped around his dick. God, he needed to get laid. But this guy would probably kick his ass before he’d do that.

"What’s that, mumbles?"

Ian started to repeat himself but stopped when the guy was up and out of his seat to take the one in front of Ian’s. He leaned his back against the window, stretched his legs out over both seats, and slung one arm over the back of them. Ian’s eyes were immediately drawn to the letters tattooed on his knuckles. F U C K. 

He swallowed and tried to maintain contact with the pale blue eyes in front of him. “I said—”

"I heard you," the guy responded, smirking. "That makes you look lost, ya know? Freaking out and looking out the window."

"I wasn’t freaking out." Ian took a deep breath. Was everyone out to make him feel like an asshole? Suddenly he felt fingers in the front pocket of his shirt. Before he could even react, the man was puling away and reading Thad’s card. While he was reading, Ian studied his features. Everything seemed in contrast. Black hair, fair skin; pale eyes and those incredible, dark pink lips. 

"You a doctor?" The cool blue eyes looked him up and down and Ian realized this guy was actually checking him out. 

"Uh, no," Ian said. "I’m, uh, still in school."

Blue Eyes looked impressed. “You don’t look like a Thad though. That’s a douchey name.” Ian looked down and saw the matching tattoos on his other hand. Who would have thought someone with “FUCK U-UP” on his knuckles would try to pick Ian up on the L?

The automated voice over the loudspeaker announced that they were about to pull into Ian’s stop. He stood up. 

"You leavin’, Red?" the guy asked. His eyebrows went up again and Ian couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking  _cute_ that was. And how the guy would probably cut his tongue out if he said that out loud.

"Gotta get home," he said, moving towards the door. He smiled to himself, feeling a bit better about his night. Sure, he’d been rejected by a guy who seemed like a catch on paper. But he’d been hit on by his thuggish, high school-era ideal, even if he knew it would be a huge mistake to get mixed up with someone like him.

"Well if you’re not busy tonight, I’m working the door at the Fairy Tale." Ian stood in front of the doors as the train pulled to a stop, shaking his head in disbelief and smiling in spite of himself. "I’ll probably need a doctor."

Ian couldn’t take it anymore and looked back right before the doors opened. The guy was grinning at him, head leaned back against the window like he could care less if Ian showed up or not. Ian didn’t respond and willed himself not to look up at the window as he hustled down the stairs. 

In the time it took him to walk the few blocks to the apartment he shared with his brother, Lip, and younger sister, Debbie, he’d nearly forgotten about the date with Thad. But when he entered the apartment and threw his keys into the bowl by the door, Debbie was coming out of her room to ask how it went.

"Terrible," he said, his mood darkening. He flopped down onto the couch next to Lip and put his feet up on the coffee table. 

"Not the next love of your life?" Lip asked without looking up from his book. Debbie sat on the arm of the couch, frowning.

"Nah, he was a douche. Shoulda known a med student would be a prick about dating a lowly bartender." There was an open bag of Doritos on the table and Ian reached forward to grab a handful. He didn’t normally eat junk food, since that only added to the crunches he’d have to do to burn them off. But tonight he felt entitled to eat some feelings.

"You’re not lowly, Ian," Debbie said. She looked about as angry as he’d felt earlier in the night. "You’re amazing, any guy would be lucky to have you."

Ian smiled. “Thanks, Debs,” he said, popping a chip into his mouth. “Mmm, I did get hit on by a cute guy on the L on my way back,” he told her around a mouthful of Doritos.

She wrinkled her nose at the fluorescent orange mash in his mouth, but smiled when she processed his words. “Ooh, do tell!”

Even Lip perked up and put his book aside. “Yeah, Ian, we need deets.” Debbie gave Lip the finger and then widened her eyes at Ian, trying to prompt him.

"It was nothing. Just some guy making fun of me." He shoved his hand back in the chip bag. Lip grabbed it off him and pulled out a handful of his own.

"That a gay thing? Some guy making fun of you counts as flirting?" Lip asked, smirking.

"Girls don’t tease your scrawny ass?" Lip seemed to consider the thought and nodded. "It doesn’t matter anyway, he thought I was the med school guy."

"How did he get that idea?" Debbie asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"He grabbed the card out of my pocket."

"And you didn’t correct him," Lip said. Ian shook his head. "So that’s it? Two ships in the night? You’ll never see this joker again?"

Ian sighed. “I don’t know. He’s working the door at some club in Boystown.”

Debbie clapped her hands. “You have to go!”

"Yeah, Ian, you  _have_  to!” Lip said, imitating Debbie’s breathy excitement. She grabbed a pillow off the couch and whipped it at his head with perfect aim. 

Ian ignored them. “No, it’s too weird. He doesn’t even know my real name. What would I say to him?”

"You’ll figure something out," Debbie said, standing up and pulling on Ian’s arm. She was surprisingly strong, probably from all the little kids she hauled around at her job at a nearby preschool. "Now go change."

Ian looked down at his shirt. “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?”

"Uh, he’s already seen you at that. And you’ll never get into a club in a  _button-down._ " Debbie pushed him in the direction of his bedroom.

"How do you know that?" She gave him a look that would make lesser men tremble. 

After showering  _and_ changing his shirt, Ian got back on the train to head to the Fairy Tale. The whole time he tried to think of some clever way to explain the misunderstanding with his name and his job, but kept coming up empty. Even when he could see the club only a few blocks away, his mind was still a blank.

There were small groups of men clustered together outside the door of the Fairy Tale. A few of them were smoking cigarettes. One couple were pulling on each other’s belt loops looking almost too drunk to stand on their own. Then Ian spotted the guy from the train. He had one leg up on a stool and was scanning an ID with a black light. He handed it back to the guy and looked up in Ian’s direction. He smiled and Ian felt the breath knocked out of him. This guy had a great smile, even if it looked like he didn’t use it very often.

Ian approached him and gave him a small wave. “Hey,” Ian said. The guy waved back.

"Hey."

Ian leaned in near his ear. “What’s your name?” He pulled back to see the guy smiled again. It made Ian smile.

"Mickey."

"Mickey?" The guy nodded. "That’s a good name. Not douchey." The guy,  _Mickey_ , smiled. 

God, Ian was screwed.


	2. Looking for Uncut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey go on a date.

"This place okay?" Ian asked, motioning up at the sign swinging above the Alibi Room. Mickey took a deep drag of his cigarette and flicked his eyes up to the sign warily. 

"Looks like a fuckin' shithole," he said, crushing the butt under his boot. He pulled on the door and nodded his head inside. "After you."

Calling the Alibi Room a shithole was being kind, Ian knew. But he could hardly afford a fancy bar in Boystown and despite working there occasionally, Mickey didn't seem like the type to actually enjoy hanging out in clubs. Plus Ian didn't exactly want to bring Mickey to the bar where he worked and subject him to his coworkers' intense hazing.

What the Alibi had going for it was familiarity. Ian could count on the bartender, Kevin, comping him at least a handful of beers given that Kevin was also his long-time neighbor and what passed for a father figure. And he could safely say that despite not flying a rainbow flag outside, the undereducated and completely politically incorrect patrons no longer batted an eyelash at Ian Gallagher bringing a male date into the bar.

Ian slid into a booth in the back and Mickey sat across from him. Ian watched him take in his surroundings, but he looked more like he was cataloging changes than experiencing something new. "You ever been here before?"

"Not for a while." Mickey frowned. "Smells the same."

"Just thought it'd be a quick stop before the movie," Ian said. He started to get up. "We can go if you're uncomfortable."

Mickey held up a hand. "It's fine. You want a beer?"

As if summoned, Kevin appeared at the end of the table. "Ian Gallagher, haven't seen you in a long time. Where the fuck you been hiding, huh?" He snapped his bar towel at Ian's shoulder and grinned.

"Hey, Kev, just been kinda busy, I guess. Can we get two Old Styles?"

"Sure, sure, on the house," Kevin nodded while he spoke. Then he seemed lost in thought, giving Mickey the once over. "I know you. How do I know you?"

Mickey glared up at him. "How the fuck would I know?"

Ian stared back and forth between Mickey and Kevin, unsure of what was happening, but positive it couldn't be good. Mickey looked like he wanted to grab the nearest pool cue and shove it up Kevin's ass, and Kevin looked like he didn't have a fucking clue that he was riling the other man up.

Kevin let out a happy bark of laughter and clapped his hands together. "You're a Milkovich! That's it, right? One of Terry's? Or Ronnie's? God, there's so goddamned many of you it's impossible to keep track."

"Terry's," Mickey ground out between clenched teeth.

"Amazing," Kevin said, now clearly pretending to be oblivious to Mickey's rage. "Two Old Styles for the children of two of the craziest fucking families the South Side ever produced." He laughed to himself as he walked back to the bar. Ian prayed silently that he'd send his wife Veronica over with the beers rather than deliver them himself.

"So, your family's from around here, too?" Ian asked gently. Mickey glared at him with barely contained hatred. Instead of shutting Ian up, as usual his mouth decided that would be the perfect time to start running. "My dad's a menace here. Giant alcoholic, total fucking nightmare. Your father comes here, too?"

Ian gulped when he saw Mickey's hands clench into fists. But after a moment they unclenched and Mickey took a deep breath. "My  _father_  is doing time at Marion for the next fifteen years."

"Oh," Ian said. "I'm sor--"

"Two Old Styles." The glasses hit the table with enough force to send foam spilling over onto the heavily graffitied wood. Veronica put a hand on her hip and smiled at Mickey without an ounce of warmth. "I remember you, even if my husband doesn't."

Mickey looked up at her, seemingly not affected by her attempt at intimidation. He picked up his beer and took a small sip, grimacing. "Think your keg's skunked."

"Hard to fix given how often this place gets held up. Enjoy your beers, boys."

"Look, Mickey, why don't we--" Ian started.

"Can we just get the fuck out of here, Gallagher? This trip down memory lane's been long enough." He pushed himself up from the booth and Ian scrambled to follow him out the door, throwing dollars on the table behind him. He waved to Kev and Vee, the former smiling happily and the latter staring daggers at Mickey's back.

Mickey already had a cigarette lit by the time Ian joined him outside. Ian thought he'd be ready to call it a night, but he offered Ian a drag without a word. Despite the fact that he'd quit years ago, Ian accepted the smoke. He coughed after one pull and heard Mickey laugh.

"Where to now, Red?"

Ian sighed. "I guess we could walk to the theater instead of taking the train. Kill some time."

"Lead the way."

They were quiet for the first few blocks. Mickey took back his cigarette and didn't offer it to Ian again. Ian glanced at his date occasionally out of the corner of his eye. He'd been so discombobulated by how quickly the Alibi situation had spun out of control that he hadn't had a chance to properly appreciate how good Mickey looked. It looked like he'd gotten a haircut since the last time they'd seen each other. And his black t-shirt was just tight enough that Ian could see how sculpted his biceps were. 

"Enjoying the view, Gallagher?" Mickey said. Ian was embarrassed at being caught, but happy at least that Mickey didn't seem upset with him anymore. 

"It's a pretty good view," he said.

Mickey laughed quietly and looked away. "Sure."

Ian wondered how often the other guy actually heard compliments. "You think I'm full of shit?" Mickey seemed thrown off. "You're fucking hot."

"Whatever. No accounting for taste, I guess." Mickey looked around at the vacant businesses they passed. "How long is this walk?"

Ian put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. "Seriously? You picked me up on the L with like three sentences. You think that was because of your personality?"

Mickey bit his lip. "Okay," he said after a few seconds of silence.

"Okay?"

"Why you makin' a thing outta this? Can we just get where we're fuckin' goin' already?"

Ian gave up, throwing his arms out. "Fine." He started walking, not bothering to wait for Mickey. He heard a mumbled curse from behind him and then Mickey jogged up to him.

"You always this fuckin' dramatic?"

Ian just rolled his eyes. He couldn't figure out why Mickey's inability to take a compliment bothered him, but it did. Maybe it was that Ian spent a lot of his time at work and with his family and with his very small number of friends building up people's confidence. And very few of them, save for his sister Debbie basically, did Ian the same in return.

Mickey broke into Ian's thoughts with a question. "So what movie are we seeing again?" Ian looked at him and saw that Mickey was chewing his lip again. Back at the bar, Mickey had looked older, hard. But now Ian thought maybe he could see that the tough exterior was hiding something softer beneath.

"Cyborg. The director's cut. It's supposed to be fucking brilliant." Mickey made a disgusted face, like he was tasting skunked beer again. Ian stopped. "What now?"

"Van Damme? Really?" Ian laughed when he realized Mickey was fucking with him.

"What's your problem with Van Damme? The man's a legend."

"Fuck that. Steven Seagal is a fucking legend. Van Damme's a joke." Mickey raised an eyebrow in response to Ian's faux-insulted gasp. "It's the truth, Gallagher."

"You're out of your mind."

Ian shook his head and turned around, pretending to be shocked. Across the street a neon sign caught his eye. It was another dive bar, one he'd forgotten about. He turned back to face Mickey, who was looking at him expectantly.

"This calls for whiskey and a serious fucking debate." Ian pointed across the street. "You up for it?"

Mickey didn't hesitate or walk to the corner, just stepped straight out into the street, barely bothering to look both ways for oncoming traffic. When Ian didn't immediately follow, Mickey looked back. He was in the middle of the street when he asked, "You coming?"

***

"You lost, Milkovich," Ian said, leaning against the wall outside Mickey's apartment door. Mickey was struggling a bit with his keys. If he was feeling anything like Ian, it was because he was completely shitfaced drunk.

"Fuck you, Gallagher, I didn't lose shit," Mickey said, his tongue sticking halfway out of the corner of his mouth. The key slid home and turned. "A-ha!" he said, turning to Ian. "We're in."

Ian laughed loudly and Mickey's eyes widened. "Are we supposed to be quiet?"

"We're not supposed to try to wake the fuckin' dead," Mickey said, whispering now. Ian laughed, quieter this time. He followed Mickey inside and slammed the door behind him. When Mickey whipped around Ian nearly collapsed to the floor in a fit of drunken giggling. After a minute he stood up, wiping tears from his face.

"Sorry, Mickey," he stage whispered.

"Jesus, remind me never to let you do another Irish Carbomb." Mickey turned to walk down the dark hallway, but didn't get far before Ian was yanking him back and shoving his back against the wall.

"Noted," Ian said, before slamming their mouths together. The kiss was anything but gentle, Ian felt Mickey's teeth biting on his lower lip before his tongue slid inside Ian's mouth. Ian moaned and pushed against him, accidentally knocking the back of Mickey's head against the wall.

Mickey pulled away and brought his hand up to feel his scalp. "Ow, fuck." 

"Oops," Ian said, placing his hand over Mickey's and pushing him, gentler this time, back against the wall. He kissed Mickey again, spreading his legs apart to get a few inches lower and stabilize himself before he fell over. He put his other hand against the wall next Mickey's waist, his arm squeezing against him.

Mickey sighed into Ian's mouth, slowing the kiss down considerably. He slipped his hand out from under Ian's and put it on the small of Ian's back. Ian was surprised Mickey wasn't being rougher with him, but he didn't think about it for very long. 

"Where's your bedroom?" he asked, pulling away for air. 

Mickey looked dazed for a second, swallowing, eyes darting over Ian's face. He nodded to his left and Ian noticed a closed door. He put his lips back on Mickey's and guided them towards it, walking Mickey backwards. Mickey nearly fell into the room when Ian opened the door behind him without warning. But before he could protest Ian was on him again, practically dragging him to the bed.

Mickey ended up on his back, Ian on top of him, one of Mickey's thighs pushed up between Ian's. Ian didn't hold back, grinding his growing erection down onto Mickey. Mickey moaned into his mouth and Ian took that as a signal to keep going. He grabbed the bottom of Mickey's t-shirt and pulled back to pull it roughly off the other man.

"Ian," Mickey started before he was cut off by Ian's tongue in his mouth. Ian unbuttoned and pulled off his own shirt, barely capable of the patience to not just rip it, buttons be damned. He went for Mickey's jeans next, undoing his fly one handed as he used the other to hold himself up.

Mickey pushed back on Ian's chest. "Ian, wait."

"What? You don't want me to take your pants off?" Ian smirked when Mickey looked conflicted. "I'll make it worth your while." Mickey hesitated before nodding. 

The denim went down Mickey's thighs easily, but then Ian needed to get up on his knees and fucking yank to get them down his calves. "Jesus, you wear tight jeans." Mickey laughed. "Not that I'm complaining..." He laughed triumphantly when he finally had them off and threw them over his shoulder to land somewhere on the other side of the room.

Ian crawled up Mickey's body and kissed him one more time before grinning down at the evidence of Mickey's arousal. He dragged his tongue from Mickey's collar bone down to his stomach, stopping when he hit Mickey's boxers. When he looked up, Mickey was watching him, practically panting. Ian smiled crookedly and hooked his fingers into Mickey's boxers. Mickey lifted his hips so Ian could pull them down.

Ian licked his lips and pumped Mickey's erection with one fist. "First I'm gonna suck you off and then I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you." Mickey threw his head back and swallowed hard. "God, I need to fuck someone so fucking bad. So sick of shitty dates where I don't even get laid," Ian mumbled, settling his mouth into Mickey's hip.

"Wait, what?" Mickey was looking at him, confused.

"Huh?" Ian said, looking at Mickey's dick and then back to his face.

"What did you say?"

"What did I say?" Ian repeated, his tongue feeling numb in his mouth. What the fuck did he say?

"You said you need to fuck  _someone_ so bad," Mickey said, not sounding confused--or particularly drunk--anymore.

"Wait, I didn't mean--" Ian felt nauseous and drunker than ever. How was he fucking this up? They'd gotten this far, if Mickey just let him go down on him all would be forgiven.

But Mickey didn't give him the chance. He sat up and grabbed his boxers from the side of the bed. "You should leave. I don't think we're looking for the same thing." He stood up and put his underwear on, looking around for the rest of his clothes.

"But, Mickey," Ian said.

"Get the fuck out of here," Mickey said, pointing at the door. He put on his t-shirt and crossed his arms. Ian moved towards him to try to kiss him, to salvage something, but Mickey stopped him with a stiff arm to chest. "Kiss me and I'll cut your fuckin' tongue out."

Ian grabbed his clothes and shoes and put them on outside in the dark hallway. He heard Mickey moving around inside, opening and slamming drawers. He felt terrible. Mickey clearly thought he was just looking for a quick fuck, but he wasn't. He  _liked_ Mickey. He liked their stupid conversation about action movie stars. He liked how Mickey tried to hide his wince every time he took a shot. He liked the way Mickey smelled.

But there was no taking back what he'd said, or at least no fixing it tonight. He left the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him. As he walked down the staircase under flickering fluorescent lights, Ian wondered when he'd ever get his shit together and not fuck up every good thing that came along. It might not be obvious to everyone, but Mickey Milkovich looked to him like a good fucking thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also obsessed with Looking. This is going to follow the trajectory of the first season of that show. Ian is essentially the Patrick, and Mickey the Richie. Not sure yet how closely I'll stick to the Looking plot, or how often I'll be able to update. But I love the idea of mashing these two shows together.
> 
> In this world, Ian and Mickey are in their early twenties and everyone else is aged up accordingly.


End file.
